


Quiet Kitchen Conversations

by worldturtling



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Communication, Domestic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Psychological Trauma, Sexual Dysfunction, Talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-03
Updated: 2014-05-03
Packaged: 2018-01-21 19:08:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1560896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/worldturtling/pseuds/worldturtling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the H/C meme prompt: Dean/Benny “Stop crying and listen to me”- Dean's been having some trouble since he took to settling down with Benny.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quiet Kitchen Conversations

He thinks Benny is beginning to just barely tolerate him.

Not that he’s said anything to Dean that would indicate that exactly. But the silence that lingers between them in bed is stretching to longer periods and speaking more meaning than words have.

Dean knows exactly why. He knows it’s his fault.  Benny can only deal with the various issues Dean brings into the bedroom on a nightly basis. It isn’t just the nightmares disrupting their relationship anymore, and Dean bears the guilt hard.

He finds himself in the shower around noon, jerking himself with soft grunts and calling it practice. He tries to well up several images, and while he might feel a warmth of arousal in his chest…

The cold water burns him with his ineffectiveness. He couldn’t get it up, and there were only so many more times Benny would let him try before he wanted to quit Dean all together. No, he didn’t think Benny was only with him for the sex, but it was clear he didn’t expect the person he got when he decided to bunk down in a quiet fishing village with Dean. Dean was not the Dean he expected. Dean didn’t even know what to expect from himself anymore. He knows he didn’t expect to feel this.

It had rarely been a problem before, and he didn’t understand why it was cropping up now. He closes his eyes in bed and tries to envision himself as the twenty five year old who had never been to hell. Who could easily imagine Lisa, her soft curves and graceful movements teasing him awake, and get off in seconds.

Something usually breaks through his concentration. Sometimes a cicada buzzing will sound too much like a scream from a black tar pit in hell. Sometimes the toilet pipes gurgle and it sounds too much like blood cauterizing in the throat.

He digs through his bag for the last remaining option.

Benny would be in through the door soon. He swallows down the cheap cop out he’d stolen off a dead body, and maybe that made this scenario a little more twisted.

He swallows down the little white tablets dry and a few minutes later, Benny walks in with a sack over his shoulder.

“Hey,” he says with his smile reserved for Dean while he leans in to peck his mouth. If he’s surprised to see Dean hovering so close to the door, he doesn’t show it. Instead he walks in, boots thudding on the floor. He sets his sack down and plants himself at the kitchen table, leaning over to unlace his boots.

“Let me,” Dean says hurriedly, and thumps to his knees painfully between Benny’s legs. He licks his lips and swats Benny’s hands away from the laces. Benny’s arms hesitate above him, but he leans back anyway.

“Fixed two little dinghies today, and ended up having to help gut some tourists’ fish. Sorry about the smell you’ll find in my sack, but I’m guessing you’re probably thankful I bring a change of clothes at all.”

“I’d like you even if you were smelly,” Dean says, though he wrinkles his nose at the thought. He’s done with the first boot, and tugs it off of Benny with only a minimal snug resistance.  He starts undoing the strings from the hooks on the right foot. This is how he’d learnt to tie and untie shoes. Dad had taught Sam the same way, only with Dean next to him to instruct.

Benny’s hand is a soft surprise on his shoulder. Dean’s head looks up like a knee jerk reaction. Benny has an unreadable look in his eyes, but his mouth is quietly turned up.

“What’s got your heart all aflutter, brother?” Benny’s thumb is over his neck’s pulse point, pressing gently. Dean swallows. He doesn’t feel anything stirring yet.

“I’ve missed you,” he says boldly, though his voice sounds like an almost whisper. He finishes with the other boot, and Benny’s hand falls away. Dean stands up before him, Benny’s head raising with him and tilting up to meet his eyes.

He leans down, covers Benny’s lips firmly with his own. It’s an unapologetic request. Benny’s mouth opens up after a moment, and his hands reach for Dean’s hips, fingers folding into the fabric of his shirt. Dean takes it a step further, thighs coming around Benny’s spread ones, depending on Benny’s hands to support his back when he sits on him. He does, and adjusts his grip to hug Dean’s body close to him.

He frames the bearded face with his hands, kisses Benny deeply and tilts his neck to slide his tongue around the vampire’s mouth without fear. He believes in himself. Benny smells like the harbor he works at, and like the four cloves body wash he uses, and like Dean’s deodorant because he says smelling Dean a little calms him down sometimes when he’s alone. His body is cold but firm and wanting, and Dean feels a hunger in his chest to be embedded inside of it.

He rocks his hips into Benny’s, feels him half hard. Dean has nothing. He swears he can feel Benny falter in his kiss.

He kisses back harder, rocks his hips more. His stomach feels off, face hot, but it probably needs another few minutes to kick in. He feels Benny’s hands at the small of his back, the way he presses and supports Dean against him. He quickly tries to spur up another image, Lisa holding his hips and wrapping her lips around him. Putting his mouth against Cassie’s soft folds. Fantasies, Deacon pressing him against a wall and kissing him senseless.

Nothing, nothing, more nothing. He makes a frustrated sound.

Benny picks up on it and he doesn’t need super hearing to hear it. He stops the kiss by jerking his head back, and that’s more than enough to make Dean want to scream and rut up against rocks. He grips his hands into the front of Benny’s shirt with annoyance, staring at his angry knuckles. His eyes are wide with realization that even _this_ method won’t work for him, and air is what makes them sting up with water.

“Dean,” he closes his eyes to Benny’s voice, sounding laced with a little suspicion. Tears spring from the corner of his eyes and creep down the sides of his face.

“Dean.” Benny says a little harder this time. His face is burning and stomach feels vile. “What’d you take, Dean?” His hands feel harder on Dean’s back, one positioned between his shoulder blade, positioned to shake him on Benny’s lap and makes more tears spring up into Dean’s eyes with hot embarrassment at the situation.

“Stop crying and look at me,” he wants to tear away from the tiredness in Benny’s voice and go for a long walk through the woods, to outlive this feeling, but Benny isn’t letting him go.

“You gotta look at me if you want something, Dean,” his voice is softer. The rocking movements calmed Dean’s stomach down. His grip on Benny’s shirt loosens.

Benny’s eyebrows are knit together, blue eyes concentrated on Dean.

“Did you take anything illegal or dangerous?” Dean is confused by the question, then shakes his head.

“Fuckin’ sugar pill,” he mutters. Or maybe it was expired. Maybe he was expired and pills don’t work on dead things.

Benny nods carefully, and exhales a pretty strong sigh that Dean flinches away from. He brings the hand from between Deans shoulder blades to his face, and Dean jerks before allowing it to touch his skin. He swipes  the rough pad of his thumb against a damp cheek.

“We don’t need to do this, Dean. I’m content to just sleep by you every night. You don’t owe me nothing, least of all this.” Dean nods reflexively, heard it all before and tries to look at the wall and not feel the disappointment in himself.

“So talk to me,” Benny continues, “why you tryin’ to force yourself all of a sudden. What’s goin’ on in there?”

He mutters something. He feels ridiculous having this conversation on Benny’s lap. He adjusts his thighs to be more firmly seated on him. He looks at his hands still clenched softly into Benny’s shirt, and rolls his thumbs over the soft material concealing the coarse black hairs that cover Benny’s body.

“What was that?” Benny is using his coaxing voice, he’s ashamed to say it works in the way it heats up his belly with hunger for more of those affectionate tones.

“Everybody leaves.” He chokes it out around a burning throat.

“I’m not going anywhere, Dean.”  Benny grips one of his hands and folders his over Dean’s. “Look at me. I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me until you find someone better.” Benny’s mouth is twitching up. His eyes are looking into Dean’s, and there’s a sad look in them. It’s the kind of sad Dean can recognize.

“Shut up,” he says under his breath, kisses Benny like an apology and a thank you. Benny’s mouth find his forehead when Dean’s head droops with weariness. He leans forward with a sudden exhaustion, and Benny’s arms wrap around him, Dean burying his nose into Benny’s neck. He hopes Benny won’t try to move them for a while longer. The ticking clock in the kitchen beats for them, envelops them within their own silence. Benny’s hands stroke softly down his back. 

“I’m not going anywhere.”


End file.
